167 pages, 37 vignettes, 18 original watercolors, and additional photographs about medical school and residency training in 1940s Dallas, Texas. Includes the original version of her frequently-quoted (and often erroneously attributed) poem, "Lament to the Wife of a Psychiatrist."

(From the text) " . . . I drew in my breath in horror. There before me were huge coffin-sized metal vats, like big half pipes, filled with this liquid, each containing a human cadaver. During the night the bodies rested in the formaldehyde; each school day they were brought up on a plank to be studied and dissected. . . .

. . . I got quite used to the bones under the bed, not thinking much about them after awhile. I should have known that other people might not be so sanguine about them. One time our apartment got so dirty that I hired a nice older woman to clean while I was at work. In the middle of the cleaning she apparently bacame curious about what was in the box under the bed . . . and opened it. She must have left post haste, because when I got home the cleaning was half done, the top of the suit box was cast aside, and she hadn't even waited for me to get home to pay her.